


"To Be Tempted Enough"

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris, Vin, control issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"To Be Tempted Enough"

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very late fill for a Christmas stocking, and it might also double for a birthday present.

“ _We like slipping, but not falling; our real anxiety is to be tempted enough.”_

~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, _Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers_ , 1827

 

 

 

 

 

“No.”

 

Chris sighed and leaned forward but Vin got up from the table and headed to the bar. The saloon wasn't crowded, it was still early in the evening. Not that he really wanted to have this conversation in a public place, but Vin had been avoiding him as of late. On the rare nights that Vin stayed at the cabin, or that Chris managed to cajole his way into Vin's room at the boarding house, talk was not something they got around to. Vin was usually up and out before the sun was up.

 

Chris sighed, sitting back and picking up his beer mug. He had been careful; the partial bottle of whiskey was on the table but he had been careful not to drink more than one. That was part of what had gone wrong that night – he had been drunk and that had led him to be reckless.

 

And hungover the next morning, when he had said things that he hadn't meant.

 

Well, he had meant them, at the time. But they were things he still should not have said, not to someone that he cared about.

 

And that was at the heart of this, wasn't it. That he cared for Vin.

 

He sighed and took a long drink of the whiskey. It was a hard truth that he had been avoiding, especially that night that he had been drunk. That was the other reason he'd said the things he'd said the next morning. In hopes of proving to himself that he was wrong.

 

He hadn't been. If anything, in the days since, he had come to find out just how much he did care.

 

He watched as Vin stood at the bar. He'd been served, his beer full and sitting in front of him. Yet he didn't move, just stood there. He wasn't talking to the bartender, or to the man on his left. He was just standing.

 

Avoiding Chris.

 

Dammit. Techy as a damned cat, Chris thought, taking one more drink of his whiskey. Sitting here wasn't gonna get Vin any closer to seeing things the way he wanted, so he was going to have to play the penitent – not that he shouldn't, but – well, he hadn't been prepared to be this penitent.

 

“What's got you so bothered?” Buck said, strolling up and pulling out a chair. Without invitation and without asking, but then, that was Buck.

 

Chris drew a deep breath, managing not to sigh as it was futile to be annoyed. Or at least to show it. He just looked away as Buck reached out and snagged the whiskey bottle and took a big sip of it, right from the bottle itself. He did have the decency to wipe off the top before setting it back on the table and leaning back in the chair.

 

“Whooheee,” he said, taking his hat off his head. “It's too early to be getting this damned hot – we ain't past the winter yet, are we? It ain't even Easter!”

 

“Do I wanna know where you've been keeping yourself?” Chris asked, as much to distract Buck from his previous question as to glean anything of importance from his old friend.

 

Buck grinned – as expected, that grin that let Chris know there was a woman involved. As Buck leaned forward, ready to relate his current tale of adventure, Chris pushed the bottle back toward him and in the same motion he rose and said, “Have a drink while I get a beer and another glass for you.”

 

As Chris knew, the offer of whiskey and the suggestion that Chris was buying Buck a beer was enough to stop whatever stream of words were on Buck's tongue, giving Chris the chance to slip away from the table.

 

He didn't try to hide what he was doing – that would have been pointless. Instead, he walked right up the bar, in the space right beside Vin, and said to the Joe, the bartender, “A beer and an empty glass, please.”

 

Joe nodded and reached for a beer mug, but Chris' attention was on the man beside him. Vin made a noise, something like a snort, and said very softly, “Must be bad if you're fetching for him.”

 

Chris took that as a good sign and said, in the same soft tone, “You could save his life by coming back to the table. Keep me from wasting a bullet, too.”

 

Vin shook his head, but Chris had learned to read the man's reactions. This wasn't a 'no' shake, this was an amused, 'may as well enjoy myself' headshake.

 

Chris tossed some coins on the bar and took the beer and the empty glass. As he turned to head back to the table, he felt Vin move behind him and knew the other man was following.

 

Buck was in a mood, and he rambled on through his beer, talking about his latest infatuation, a woman he wouldn't name, which meant she was married, nor where she lived, which meant she was close, but that she was adventurous, which meant she didn't mind meeting him out of doors.

 

Chris drank, half listening, enough so that he could respond appropriately – not necessarily to Buck and the social constraints that annoyed him, but more often to the soft chuckles that came from Vin and the occasional snorts of disbelief. Buck was given to some flights of fancy but his tales were always interesting. After a time, the others drifted in and settled around them, and the conversation turned more general. News of the day, who was doing what to whom, what news had come on the stage and from various strangers passing through. Ezra, usually the last to join, had a tale of some troubles with the Indians, which set Vin on edge, though he didn't say it. Chris saw it in the straightness of his back, the stretch of the worn buckskin over his broad shoulders.

 

But the conversation moved on, and within a time, the others began to drift away, Ezra to a card game, JD off to see Casey, Josiah back to the church, Nathan up to his clinic, and Buck off to the bar, chatting up a newly arrived woman and her chaperone. Leaving Chris right where he wanted to be, with Vin.

 

A Vin who was more mellow now that Chris had managed to get a few drinks in him, a Vin who was more relaxed now that he had laughed a few times and hopefully forgotten about Ezra's news.

 

As if knowing his mind, Vin said softly, “Why you got this nonsense back in your head? You made it pretty clear what you thought about it that morning.”

 

Chris drew a breath, wishing that Vin didn't know him so well sometimes. Though actually, it was pretty good that Vin had cut to the heart of it. It meant that at some level, he was interested, and thinking about it. Which gave Chris some hope. He just had to find the right way to play this.

 

Those words in his head almost made him smile. He'd been around Ezra just a little too long.

 

“Reckon I wasn't thinking too clear that morning,” he said, knowing better than to try to dance around the issue.

 

“Reckon you were thinking more clear that morning than the night before,” Vin countered, but he settled a little more comfortably back in his chair, his hands dropping into his lap.

 

Chris drew a breath, stalling to find the right words. There weren't many choices though, as Vin knew the truth of it as well as Chris.

 

It went against his nature to admit it, but it had to be done, so he said, slowly and very quietly, “No, I knew what I wanted that night, just didn't have the gumption to ask for it without having an excuse.”

 

Vin didn't say anything, but he shifted in the chair, his head dropping so that the brim of his hat hid his face. That usually meant he was surprised enough to hide his face, not wanting anyone to see his reaction.

 

After a short time, Chris licked his dry lips and said even more softly, “I'm not making that mistake this time. I'm not looking for an excuse to hide behind.”

 

It didn't seem like he should have to say it, and he knew Vin had already come to the same understanding. But it felt like it was necessary to let Vin know he wasn't hiding this time. He wasn't going to lie to himself or to Vin.

 

Vin drew in a deep breath, his head lifting so that his gaze seemed to be out the window. But Chris knew better. He knew that Vin was thinking, that Vin was considering the cost of this honesty. That he was weighing the price of what it would mean to him, if he accepted the challenge that was before him.

 

After a time, Vin said, “So what are you hiding behind now?”

 

Chris shrugged. “Ain't hiding. Reckon I can't be more direct than I am right now.”

 

Vin shook his head, and for a few seconds, Chris wasn't sure what the other man was thinking. It was a worrisome situation, as he knew that more often than not, he and Vin had a similar way of viewing the world and each other.

 

Then Vin sighed, reaching out to pick up his glass. There was just a little whiskey still in it, and Chris pushed the bottle towards him, but Vin shook his head. “Already have enough,” he said, as he lifted the glass to his lips. “More than enough, since I'm listening to you again.”

 

Just like that, it was done. Chris swallowed, reaching out without thinking to reclaim the whiskey bottle. But at that motion, Vin turned to look at him, and Chris saw worry in him, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the downturn of his lips.

 

He drew his hand back, leaving the bottle where it was.

 

Vin's lips twitched. He pushed back against the table and got to his feet. “Spect it'd be better if we were out to your place. Away from – concerns.”

 

Chris grinned. “Thinking the same thing. See you there.”

 

It was their habit not to leave together if they were planning to meet up later. Vin headed out the swinging doors, touching his hat brim to a few people as he passed by. Chris watched him go, then, realizing that he would look stupid sitting here doing nothing, he did reach for the bottle and pour himself another drink. But it was a small one. He did not want Vin to find a way to back out.

 

Though as he sat here, sipping on the whiskey, he thought about what Vin had said. Vin had let himself be talked into it – granted, it have been over several hours and some alcohol, but he had let down his stubborn guard. That was a sign in itself, a sign that he, too, wanted this.

 

That thought stirred a heat in his belly, deep and pulsing, but it also sent a shiver of worry up his spine. Too late now, though; he had asked for this and he wanted it. He did.

 

He drank the rest of his whiskey, putting the glass down on the table. As he rose, he looked at the bottle. There was still over a third in it, and he wasn't one to let good whiskey go to waste. The cork was in the middle of the table, and he caught it up, sliding it into the bottle and then sliding the bottle into the pocket of his duster. If nothing else, he could prove to Vin that he hadn't drunk much more and that this decision was one made in good faith and good mind.

 

His horse was at Tiny's and it didn't take him long to saddle the gelding and get on the road. The sun was low in the sky, the grey of dusk settling around him. The sounds of night creatures was comforting, insects, birds, the periodic snort of his horse as the gelding blew dust out of his nose.

 

The heat in his belly grew with each step closer to home. They had tried this months before and while he had tried hard to convince himself that he hadn't liked it, that he was not the type of man who could find pleasure in this, he had been wrong. He had known it at the time, even in his drunken state.

 

He had also known that it would change everything between him and Vin – which it had. It hadn't broken them, but it had come close. And if he messed this up, then he would break it tonight.

 

The bottle in his pocket bounced against his thigh, a taunt and a warning at the same time.

 

He spent the rest of the ride letting the two sides of the argument drift back and forth in his head, interrupted regularly with snippets of memories of that night: Vin, naked, his pale skin shining in the moonlight. Vin didn't often strip down when they got together, worried that they might be caught, but that night, he had taken off everything, even his longjohns. Chris had glimpsed the scars, seen the ridges and lines his hands knew well but his eyes barely recognized. He had seen, also, the brightness in those pale eyes, the flare of fires that Vin didn't oft let out.

 

Those images had stuck, despite the whiskey and despite his own temper.

 

As did the memory of Vin curled against him, that long body, bare skin, pressed against his back, long arms wrapped around his chest – not tight, not trapping, but warm and familiar and – comforting.

 

It was a sensation more than a thought – a warmth and security that was not associated with a conscious thought.

 

Or a conscious memory.

 

It was associated with desire, though, and that was building deep and warm. A desire to have Vin pressed against him again, to feel that skin against his, to feel that desire for him.

 

To feel Vin inside him, to be possessed by him – and to possess him.

 

Because that was the other part of what he remembered most clearly from that night: knowing how completely Vin cared for him, and how much Vin was willing to give up for him.

 

Perhaps that was what this, tonight, was about, a test to see if Vin was still willing to be controlled – to be owned – by Chris.

 

It was an odd way to think, and one that had actually taken him a while to come round to. His thinking for so very long had been that he owned Vin because Vin let him do the screwing. And after that first time, when he'd left Vin screw him, he'd thought that meant the same, that Vin now owned him.

 

And that had been at the heart of his fear and anger. That he had given himself to Vin, that Vin now had a claim on him.

 

But as the days passed, and as his anger receded – and Vin became more distant – Chris came to understand that his thinking about the whole thing was wrong. It wasn't about Vin laying any claim on him. It was about him laying more claim on Vin. And his anger after had driven Vin away. Made him feel the exact opposite of what Chris intended.

 

The more he had thought about that, about what he wanted Vin to feel, the more it had become clear to him that he had to move past his own fears of this, to understand that this was about keeping Vin to him.

 

About binding the two of them together as tightly as could be done. Which he now knew he wanted.

 

As he rode into the clearing upon which his cabin stood, Vin's horse whinnied a welcome from the corral. Light from a lamp shown through the open cabin door, and Chris could make out Vin sitting on the porch, to one side of the doorway itself. He was leaning back against the wall of the cabin, his legs stretched across the floor of the porch and crossed at the ankle. Relaxed, then, which was good.

 

Chris didn't waste much time caring for his own horse though he didn't rush through it too fast; Vin would be angry if he thought the horse was shorted in the exchange, and he'd come out here and take care of the horses himself. He'd done it before.

 

As he turned the horse out into the corral, he picked up his saddle bags and headed to the cabin. Vin was still sitting on the porch, and Chris saw that he had a tin cup at his side, from which he was sipping. It caught the light of the lamp inside as it moved from the porch to Vin's lips.

 

“You planning on being drunk this time?” Chris asked, mostly to tease the other man. But the idea of it, that Vin might not be in his right mind, that he might – well, hell, that he might do what Chris had done . . . It would serve Chris right, of course, but at same time, it was far from what Chris wanted. And the idea of Vin being out of control . . .

 

Vin grinned, his teeth flashing from the shadow. “Reckon I'm due,” he said, and Chris' stomach turned a little. But before he could draw a breath, Vin went on, “But that'd seem kinda contradictory. And probably make things worse. This is mostly water. Brought in a bucket of it when I washed up.”

 

The first reaction Chris had was relief. No drunk Vin.

 

The second reaction was a thrill of desire. Vin had washed up. Which meant he was thinking about this – planning. Not reacting, not spur of the moment, but actually . . .

 

Well, maybe courting?

 

The very idea of it made him chuckle, which made Vin still for a few seconds. Chris knew from long experience that that wasn't a good thing, so he said casually, “You telling me I need a bath?”

 

At that, Vin grinned again and the stillness about him changed. “Up to you. You know I ain't particular about such, but I ain't a gentleman like you.”

 

Chris actually found himself laughing at that – but then, that was one of the things that Vin could do: Vin could make him laugh. And usually, it was at himself. He stepped up onto the porch, reaching down to ruffle Vin's hair as he walked past into the cabin. Vin's hair was damp under his touch, and soft too; he'd washed it, as that was the only time that it was soft as it was now.

 

So it was courting, Chris thought as he threw his saddle bags onto the floor inside the door. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it against the wall, in a pile of clothes that he needed to wash, and he reached for the linens that he used for washing.

 

After a quick sniff, he tossed them to the pile on the floor and opened the big chest he kept against the side wall. On the right was a stack of other linens, the top ones worn from regular use – but they were clean and they didn't smell. On the other side of the chest, he found a pair of clean pants and drawers - - but there was little use of the drawers right now. He just needed to get cleaned up and back into the cabin.

 

As quick as he could, or at least, that was what his cock was telling him.

 

The water pump and the bucket were outside, to one side of the cabin, and he walked back out into the night. Vin still sat on the porch, his legs stretched out, but the moon was rising, brightening the darkness enough to see.

 

As Chris stepped off the porch, Vin said softly, “Take your time. Gonna be a nice night.”

 

“I hope so,” he agreed, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin.

 

Courting, he thought again as he made his way to the wash bucket. And wasn't he doing the same? The whole point of this was to tie them more closely together. Both of them.

 

Him, to Vin.

 

The thought of it was concrete in his mind. This was what he had been working toward, and this whole night was about that commitment. So courting, yes, as surely as he had courted Sarah.

 

The thought of her made his stop for just a second. He still loved her, and he missed her everyday.

 

But it had been almost five years now, two years since they had put Ella Gaines in the ground. In that time, the ache had lessened, as had the anger. He missed Sarah.

 

And he had come to need Vin.

 

It was a hard realization, and standing here, staring into the washtub and the water that reflected the moonlight, he thought he saw Sarah's face. He blinked, and it was gone, only the moon reflected in the water. But he had the lingering image of her, and she had been smiling.

 

He pushed his hands into the cool water, bringing a handful to his face. The bar of soap was beside the tub on the table, and he reached for it, plunging it into the water as well. As he drew it back out of the water, rubbing it between his hands to create a lather, he smelled the lavender in it, not a strong smell, but enough to let him know that Vin had bought this special.

 

Courting, indeed.

 

When he made his way back to the cabin, rubbing his wet hair with a linen, his clothes wet from where he'd put them on after washing as much as he could without taking off his boots, he found the porch empty. Without a thought, he looked to the corral, where he could see the outline of both horses in the moonlight.

 

So Vin was inside.

 

The coil of desire tightened in Chris' belly, and he smiled, thinking about Vin in his bed. Even with his pants on, the image of Vin sprawled on a mattress was inviting. Long limbs, hair spread on the pillow, and those eyes.

 

Chris swallowed, stepping up onto the porch and calling out, “Coming in – don't shoot!”

 

Vin was on the bed, but he was sitting, his gun in his hands but not raised. He still had all his clothes on, and his boots, but he grinned when he saw Chris. “Was wondering if you'd drowned and I was gonna have to go explain that to folk.”

 

“Was trying to give you time to be ready,” Chris said, dropping the big cloth he'd been using to dry over one of the few chairs in the small cabin. He did notice that the lamp had been turned down some and a whiskey bottle, not one of his, was on the table, along with a jug of water.

 

He closed the door to the cabin, locking the bolt and putting a chair in front of it.

 

When he turned back, Vin had put his gun on the trunk that served as a table beside the bed, and he was pulling of his boots. He didn't look to Chris, but he said, “Figured you'd be having some second thoughts about this. And I wouldn't blame you if you did. Given the bitching I heard after last time - “

 

“I wasn't bitching,” Chris said sharply, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew he had been. And he knew Vin was right to call him on it. So he went on as smoothly as he could, “I think we've been through this, and I've apologized. I will again, if you want me to - “

 

“Don't want you to apologize,” Vin said, tossing his boots off to the side. He looked at Chris this time, though, his gaze calm. “But I won't take it if you bitch tomorrow. You asked for this, and I've given you every chance to change your mind. Ain't no going back once it's done.”

 

“I know,” Chris said, standing straight and meeting Vin's gaze straight on. “I ain't gonna bitch or complain – or blame you for how I feel tomorrow. How I feel about anything.”

 

There. He'd said it – or he'd come as close to saying it as he could.

 

And he knew from the way Vin looked at him, the way he tilted his head to one side, studying Chris, that he understood exactly what Chris meant by it.

 

Chris found himself holding his breath. He knew that Vin wanted the same thing he did – had known for as long as they'd been going on about this. But now, in the silence and with Vin's eyes holding his, seeming to look into his very soul, Chris wondered if he'd been wrong about the whole thing. If Vin wasn't feeling the same thing he was. For the first time, he started to doubt what he thought he knew – it wasn't as if Vin had ever said anything himself – hell, he'd been even less forthcoming in words than Chris, saying even less that Chris just had.

 

Just when he thought he'd made a mistake and was gonna have to find a way to talk around what he'd just said, Vin nodded. “Reckon that's at the heart of this, ain't it. For both of us.”

 

And there it was. Chris drew a deep breath, the sense of relief so strong that he felt giddy.

 

He moved over to the bed, and on impulse, he reached down to cup the back of Vin's head with one hand. Vin looked up and they looked at each other for few seconds before their lips met.

 

They hadn't kissed often. It was an intimacy that wasn't just about sex. In fact, for a long time, at the beginning, they hadn't kissed at all. Chris had been comforted by that then, the idea that what they had, initially, was an itch that they needed to scratch, a pleasurable few minutes that took the edge off until he could get to Purgatorio and Maria.

 

It had taken him a while to wonder where Vin went for his actual deeper needs. And it was soon after he started wondering about Vin that he had kissed Vin for the first time. It had surprised the hell out of both of them.

 

And scared them both; it had taken a long while for the second kiss, and Vin had been the one to start it, catching Chris as they were already going at it hot and heavy, Chris buried deep inside. It hadn't been until after Chris had rolled off and they were side by side, trying to get back their breath, that Chris found himself appreciating the taste of Vin in his mouth, sweet grass, whiskey, and chili peppers, which left his tongue tingling.

 

And his belly warm, but not from need. Until he realized what he was feeling. This time hadn't been as frightening, and it was what got him thinking about doing what they had done, that had led them here.

 

So it seemed right this time to start with a kiss – to make it clear from this point on that this time was different, in all the right ways.

 

Vin tasted as he had the times before, whiskey, sweet grass, spicy, but there was some mint, too, as if he'd planned on this. That thought made it all the more pleasant.

 

When they broke for air, Vin ran his fingers down Chris' chest. “Got an idea,” he said, his voice rough. “Make it different from last time, give you more control.”

 

Chris frowned. “The idea here is for you to be in charge,” he said, reaching down to unbutton Vin's shirt.

 

“No,” Vin corrected, pushing Chris' hand away and unbuttoning his shirt himself, “the idea is for me to fuck you. The two ain't the same thing.”

 

Chris stepped back, confused by this thinking. “How the hell you work that out?”

 

Vin smiled, pulling his shirt off then pushing himself to his feet. He pulled at the waistband of his heavy pants, the buttons coming open easily, then he pushed the pants down. In a surprising turn of events, he wasn't wearing his underdrawers, and Chris watched as the man's pale skin was exposed. For a few seconds, he completely forgot what they were talking about – that they were talking at all – and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out and running the tips of his fingers along the warm expanse of Vin's haunch. He smiled as the skin pebbled in goosebumps and smiled wider when Vin jerked away, letting his pants fall to the floor before kicking them out of the way and dropping his shirt on top of them.

 

As he stood up, his interest in the proceedings was noticeable, though he was still harboring some concerns, as his staff was swelling but not filled out.

 

At this point, it didn't look half as intimidating as Chris remembered. He started to slide his fingers around it, knowing how quick Vin was to respond to just a touch in the right place, but Vin pushed him back and away.

 

“Ain't ready yet,” he said, turning to the side as if he were a little embarrassed.

 

Which made Chris grin. “I can tell. I can also do something about that.”

 

“And if you do, you ain't gonna get what you want,” Vin said, sitting back down on the mattress. He reached toward the chest and picked up a tin that Chris hadn't noticed before. “Got this from – well, I got this. It's better than gun oil – smells better, too.” He opened it and set the lid back on the trunk, holding out the tin itself toward Chris.

 

Lavender and sage, Chris recognized, but also something else – lemon? “What is it?” he asked Vin, leaning closer to get a better smell.

 

“Got it from Gloria. She says its the best thing for rough skin, burns, and cut places. It don't smell like much on its own so some of the local ladies – and I warrant Nettie's one of 'em – mix it up with the flowers and herbs to make it smell better. Stuff works, though – I been using it for a time and it's helped a lot. Thought it might work for other things, too.” He grinned then, for the first time looking like he was going to enjoy this.

 

Chris grinned, too. He went to work on his own clothes, stripping down as quick as he could. After stepping out of his pants, he looked up to find Vin stretched out on the bed, on his back. The tin was at his side and Chris could tell that some of the stuff was scooped out, and the scent of it hung in the air, soft and sweet.

 

He could also see it, an iridescent, shiny coating that Vin was applying to his lengthening cock. It stood straight now, pointing toward the ceiling, reminding Chris of what he wanted.

 

“This is probably the easiest way,” Vin said, closing his eyes as he moved his hand up and down the slender shaft. “I'm gonna lay here as still as I can, so you can do what you want to do when you want to do it.”

 

Chris' mouth went dry. The very idea of Vin lying there, letting Chris do what he wanted, trying not to respond – as if that could happen. Vin couldn't not move; he loved to be touched – well, he loved to be touched by Chris. It had surprised the hell out of Chris to discover that Vin was this sensitive, this receptive to affection; in public, he seemed to keep a good distance between himself and most others.

 

But in the bed, he touched and he liked to be touched, so the idea that he would willingly try not to move, to let Chris do whatever he wanted without responding -

 

Chris' own erection was suddenly painful, and he had to draw a deep breath to keep from coming just at the thought of this.

 

“Chris?” Vin asked, and there was a hint of amusement but also worry in his voice.

 

Chris held up a hand, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, then, when he was able to think again, he said, “Have a hard time believing that you can do that.” His voice was rough even to his own ears.

 

Vin grinned. “Yeah, well, me too, but I'm gonna try.” He picked up the tin and held it out to Chris. “Reckon you need to use some of this, too.”

 

Chris took the tin without looking at it, his attention on the hand that held it. On the wrist attached to that hand. There wasn't a headboard on the bed, but if he could find a way to tie some ropes to the frame -

 

“Chris.” The word was sharp and hard, and Chris blinked, looking up, with effort, into clear blue eyes. “You ain't tying me up, so forget about it.”

 

He grinned, though he knew he wouldn't push the issue. “Would make it a lot easier,” he teased, catching Vin's wrist in an easy hold.

 

Vin pulled away and got his elbows under him, pushing up. “Don't even -”

 

Chris reached out and touched the center of Vin's chest, not pressing him back down but giving a gentle slide of his fingertips along the hard bone of his sternum. “I was teasing,” he said softly. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

 

Vin glared up at him, not reassured, but he didn't say anything.

 

So Chris did that thing, again, that thing that was still growing on them both: he kissed him.

 

It was distracting for them both, enough so that when Chris pulled back to breathe, he had to struggle to think past the taste of Vin's mouth, the feel of their tongues touching and tasting, the sharing, the pure pleasure of this sort of intimacy.

 

It worked to distract Vin; he blinked, staring up at Chris, his eyes heavy lidded, and the tension from before gone. “Get up here,” he said, his voice more raspy than usual.

 

Chris moved to straddle his lover's hips. Vin's erection was solid behind him, warm against his ass.

 

“Come up here,” Vin said, curling his fingers around the back of Chris' thighs and pulling. “Got something I want to do while you do what you need to do.” And with that, he pushed the tin back into Chris' hand, the message clear.

 

It was hard to do what needed doing with Vin's lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, Vin's tongue doing things to Chris that he had never thought a man could do.

 

Though he'd been learning himself how to do some of the same thing – but he wasn't thinking of that right now. He was having a hard enough time thinking of what he was doing with his hand, his fingers, and the slick, trying to put it in the right places, but he couldn't not feel how good it felt to have both sensations going on at the same time . . .

 

He was getting close, and part of him, that part that wasn't too sure about this whole thing was more than willing to let this go right on to the sweet finish. The feel of his fingers pressed up inside him while Vin's tongue was working that magic on the most sensitive part of him . . .

 

He looked down, taking in the sight of Vin, his eyes closed tight, his lips wet and stretched tight, his brow wrinkled in concentration – thinking nothing but about making Chris happy.

 

That was what made Chris finally, desperately, pull away, though it was as much painful as the pleasure had been. Vin looked up at him, his eyes glazed and his lips shiny. He was breathing in short gasps and Chris felt the hardness of Vin's erection as he rested against it. He hadn't been the only one close.

 

The response came not from his cock though. The thought of what this would mean, the reminder that what they were doing, they would do again – often – if he went through with what he had asked for – that was the thought that bubbled up, pushing past the need to release.

 

Deliberately, he bent down, bringing his lips to Vin's. Vin stilled under him for an instant, then he jerked, trying to draw away. But Chris' hands framed Vin's head, Chris' fingers sliding into Vin's hair, along his scalp, taking purchase and holding him in place. The lavender scent of the oil on his fingers was strong, mixing with the soft scent of Vin's hair.

 

“Chris,” Vin started to protest, but Chris took full advantage and pressed his tongue deep into Vin's mouth.

 

He knew the taste of himself, though it was something he had not had in a long while. Not since Sarah. At least, not like this, not rich and full on his tongue, not filling his mouth and nose.

 

He knew what this meant for him – and he knew that Vin knew it, too. Vin didn't move for a time – not pushing Chris away, but also not returning the kiss. His body was rigid, unmoving under Chris, as if he were scared.

 

Chris slowly drew back, letting his tongue linger in Vin's mouth before murmuring, “Trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

 

Vin took a deep breath and he opened his eyes, looking straight into Chris'. “I told you, Chris – ain't no going back from this.”

 

Chris didn't answer – it was past words. Instead, carefully, he reached back and took Vin's cock in his hand, feeling it swell at his touch. Vin drew in a breath and his eyes widened as Chris rose, positioning himself as well as he could, then slowly, carefully, doing exactly as Vin had wanted him to: taking control of his own impalement.

 

It hurt. Burning, stretching, putting pressure in places he wasn't sure he wanted it. His thighs were tight and they, too, burned with the strain of holding himself up. It was, in one way, like riding a horse, one that wasn't yet broken in. In another way, it was like – well, it was like the last time they had done this.

 

Only better. Much better.

 

He looked down, thinking to say as much to Vin, only to be distracted by the look on Vin's face. He expected to see pleasure, to see joy, but instead, Vin's forehead was wrinkled and the lines at the corners of his eyes and lips were so tight that he didn't look like himself. He was pale but droplets of sweat trickled down his face, leaving damp spots in the pillow and in his hair. His neck was so taut that Chris could see the veins pulsing along his tendons, and there was blood dripping down his chin and along the jaw from cuts in his lips created by his own teeth.

 

“What the -” he started, but then he knew. Vin was not moving. He was desperately working to keep himself as still as he could – and it was almost killing him.

 

Chris almost laughed but the humor wasn't as powerful as the understanding of what Vin was doing. He was a man of his word and he had promised that he would do anything he could not to hurt Chris.

 

Chris leaned over, feeling the burn as he did but not caring. He tapped his fingers on Vin's forehead, then when Vin opened his eyes, he stared into them as he brought his mouth once more to Vin's. The taste of blood was as strong as the taste of himself had been earlier, and he thought about the significance of that – sex and blood. The two things that bound people together.

 

Vin was still this time, too, but as Chris forced his lips apart, he gave a little whimper, the sound a vibration that shook Chris to the core.

 

Then Vin shifted, his arms coming up and his fingers clutching at Chris' shoulders. There was another whimper, then a low, deep moan. Chris didn't need a translation. Vin was clinging to the edge of release and he needed to let go.

 

But it was up to Chris.

 

“It's okay,” he said, letting the words roll over Vin's tongue. “Let go.”

 

Vin gasped and he tried to move his head, to deny the command. He pushed at Chris, as if to get him back but Chris drew lower, tightening his hold on Vin's head. “Move, Vin. Move.”

 

Vin stared up at him, his eyes bright with need, pain, but also with the promise he had made. “Your time,” he rasped, “I promised -”

 

“And you've done it. I'm there.” And he was. He was seated solidly against Vin's hips, his knees on the mattress, warm against Vin's sides. “I'm close, too, ready. I want it.”

 

To prove his point, he rose a little then slid back down, the movement setting off a flurry of desire in his belly and groin. And that other spot, the one deep inside, where he could feel the pressure of Vin inside him.

 

His own resolve was fading, the sensations close to overwhelming him. He knew that it wasn't not going to be long before he gave into the need to release. But he wanted it to be both of them.

 

He needed for it to be equal, the basis of what they had together. A sign that they were – well, together.

 

Before he could get distracted by any reconsiderations of it, he pushed himself upright, then used his thighs to lift himself up, feeling the pressure building throughout his body with the movement. There was a burn, again, but it was good now, adding to the intensity and speeding up the thrumming of his heart and of his desire.

 

“Chris!” Vin called, but it faded into a cry of need, and Chris looked down to see Vin's hips arching upward, as if trying to keeping up with him.

 

So he started coming back down, but this time, he wasn't as slow as he had been the first time. The burn was greater now, but so was the sense of losing control, of the inevitability of release. It was heightened by Vin's motions and the gasp he gave as they once more came together, though this time, it was not buffered by the mattress.

 

For an instant, the pain was blinding – but then it twined around the explosion of pleasure that almost made him lose consciousness.

 

He drifted for a time, enjoying the post-release euphoria, the almost electrical charges that pulsed through his body. Eventually, reason slowly began to seep back in and consciousness reminded him that he was with Vin. His body came back to earth as Vin shifted beneath him, the hard bones of his hips grinding against Chris' knees.

 

Chris took a deep breath and forced his eyes open. He was on top of Vin, his head against Vin's chest, his body still crouched over Vin's. He could feel Vin inside him and for a few seconds, he worried that Vin hadn't climaxed.

 

But then he heard the beating of Vin's heart. It was rapid and hard, but it was steady and it was slowing. Gradually, he realized that Vin was softening inside him, and he felt the cool wetness of fluid sliding between them.

 

Vin moved once more, his hands coming up to catch Chris' shoulders. He pushed a little, trying to put some space between them, and Chris felt the rise of Vin's chest as he drew breath. Or tried to.

 

Chris' limbs were still enjoying the lassitude so it took him a couple of tries to get his hands under him and to push up. The movement pushed at the presence inside him and Vin's softening cock slipped out, leaving Chris with a sense of soreness but also a sense of loss. It was the closest he would get to having Vin be a part of him – just as being inside Vin was the closest he would come to being a part of Vin.

 

But as he looked down, he saw that Vin was looking at him. And he knew he was wrong. Vin was already a part of him, so much so that the thought of losing him was – well, unthinkable.

 

He started to lean down, but Vin's hands were still on his shoulders, and now they came up to capture his head. Carefully, Vin drew him back down, but this time, it was so that their lips could meet.

 

Vin initiated this kiss – a long, deep one in which it was Vin's tongue demanding entry to Chris' mouth. It wasn't sexual, though. This one was one of sharing and intimacy, and intimacy that went beyond sex.

 

This one was a promise. And a bond.

 

As the kiss broke, Vin put his hands back on Chris' shoulders and drew him down to one side, so that they rested on the bed together. “Too late to go back,” Vin said, his voice as rough as sand underfoot.

 

Chris smiled, settling on his side with one arm over Vin's waist. “Yep,” he agreed, Vin's hair tickling his nose as he closed his eyes. “Ain't planning on it. You?”

 

Vin snorted, but Chris felt him relax. “Told you that before this started,” he said, closing his eyes. His head turned just a little toward Chris, so that his forehead bumped lightly against Chris.

 

“Yes, you did,” Chris agreed, closing his own eyes. “Like this idea of yours,” he said, hearing his words slur a little as sleep tugged at him. “Think we need to try it again, you being still under me.”

 

Vin sighed but Chris felt the ripple of humor in him. “Reckon I can be talked into it,” he said, his voice drifting. “Long as you ain't gonna be angry in the morning.”

 

Chris sighed, pressing in close to the other man. “Long as you're here in the morning,” he murmured, or thought he did, sleeping taking him fast.

 

 

The next morning, Chris woke alone in the bed, and for a time, he worried that it had been a dream. Until he moved and felt the soreness that let him know it hadn't been.

 

That, though, made him worry that Vin was gone, that somewhere in the night, he'd come to his senses. Memories of all the times since that first time flooded back and he thought he would be sick. He'd said things, made promises, put himself out there – and he'd thought Vin had understood.

 

Chris struggled up in the bed, wincing as he managed to sit up. He'd been a damned fool, he'd been thinking with his heart, thinking that he could trust. He'd been stupid.

 

Then he caught the scent of coffee, and as he blinked into full awareness, taking slow breaths and trying to calm the nausea, his he looked out the window to see Vin standing at the corral fence, talking to the horses.

 

He smiled as the morning sun caught the darker tints in Vin's hair, burnishing them to copper. He could get used to this. Waking up with the coffee already made and the horses already fed.

 

Going to sleep at night with someone with him – who would be there in the morning. And someone he would want to be there for.

 

And he'd get used to the soreness and the slight limp that would remind him of just what he had to live for.

 

He grinned, watching as Vin leaned forward, his pants pulling tight across his ass. And he'd give at least as good as he got – if not better. Because that was what Vin preferred.

 

And he'd be glad to make him happy. And a little sore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
